


Lighting Flamethrowers in the Dark

by PoliticallyObsessedScholar



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (sorry Ron), AU Fic, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Rape Recovery, child abuse mention, feat. Hermione being a badass, feat. Hufflepuff House being amazing, feat. Ron being an asshole, it also took up all my writing time, this used to be a short fic but now it's got substantial plot, this went unexpected places, which made it incredibly fun to write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 07:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoliticallyObsessedScholar/pseuds/PoliticallyObsessedScholar
Summary: Since he entered the Wizarding World, life for Harry has been pretty much the same. Fight the Big Bad, learn magic, and spend time with his friends. When bad things happen, it's never been because of a friend. Until now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from this Men at Arms by Terry Pratchett quote - 'Sometimes it is better to light a flamethrower than curse the darkness'

Winter had come early to Scotland that year. Which wasn’t a problem - Harry always loved winter. There was something about the cool crisp air, the dark nights, the snow falling from the sky that filled his heart with joy. As a child winter signalled relief; it signalled a break from working outside for a whole day and hurting his back. It signalled the Dursleys staying in and not wanting to see him, hiding him in his cupboard where he could relax. 

At Hogwarts winter meant late nights curled up in front of the fire. It meant summoning Dobby and drinking pilfered hot chocolate. It meant rugging up in gloves and scarves and coats and having snowball fights with his friends. 

Winter made him feel alive.

It was an average winter Saturday on a Hogsmede weekend. Ron and Hermione were laughing and flirting and imagining that nobody else noticed. Dean and Seamus had started to place bets on how many times they would get lost in each others eyes and were engaged in a spirited debate over the relative merits of Sheffield FC and York City FC ("Mate, mate... listen").

Next to him Ginny was spiritedly trying to get Hermione's attention. Her attempts were fascinating and varied. First there was the deliberate spreading of misinformation ("and then McGonagall apparated right next to him!"), then focused and deliberate staring, then repeating her name over and over and over, and then spreading a tale of injustice ("Luna was crying, it was awful. I mean who makes Luna cry, she's like a kitten. Right Hermione?"). 

What finally shocked Hermione out of her own world was a sudden realisation of the time. With that they all scrambled out of the Three Broomsticks laughing and joking. Dean and Seamus loudly crowed that they had counted 23 separate instances of getting lost in each others eyes but they were sure it happened more because mate's, they had a spirited discussion about football. It was a perfectly ordinary day. Not special or remarkable in any way yet trudging through the snow, surrounded by some of his favourite people, Harry thought that he could produce a patronus with this memory. 

***

Eventually they made it back to the castle, just before dark, and settled themselves sprawling across the common room to study. The fire was flickering, Lavender and Pavarti were doing each others horoscopes in the corner and Colin Creevey had snapped a photo just as Harry looked up from his homework and stuck his tongue out at Ginny. Which was awkward and not what he wanted recorded for posterity. He could just imagine it, students in the future flipping through a history of magic textbook and seeing it captioned with something absurd like 'seen here in a rare moment of levity'. By the time he'd shaken himself out of that horrible premonition Colin had already disappeared. Self-fulfilling prophecy or what?

Frowning at his Transfiguration essay, Harry decided he needed to find some books in the library. Standing he grabbed his satchel, stuffed it full of his research, and darted out of the portrait hole. He had an hour until he'd need to go down to dinner. That was plenty of time. Certainly enough to find one book or -

He went sprawling. "Oi watch it!"

As he picked himself up from the ground he looked up to see that he’d run into Ron. Which was odd, he hadn’t seen him leave. Still he smiled and said:

“Sorry mate. Hermione got you studying too?”

His best friend nodded and they kept walking. They were on the seventh floor and as they passed the place where the Room of Requirement lived a door appeared.

“What d’you require a room for mate?” said Harry as he walked over to open and see. It was the strangest moment though, it was almost as if the Room didn’t want to let him in. The doorknob was stiff and unyielding until Ron reached out to help him. Then it gave way with what sounded like a sigh and they both stepped in.

It was the oddest room for Ron to require.

There was a big four-poster bed against the far wall with manacles set into the headboard. The room was dark, done up in dark grey and black. Against the wall on the left hand side stood a chest of drawers. As he walked over to see what that contained, wondering if that would give him some clue as to what this room was, he heard his best friend’s voice cry out

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ followed instantly by “ _petrificus totallus”_ and Harry’s wand went flying just as he fell to the ground, muscles locked together.

His mind was a maelstrom of confusion. Of ‘what’ and ‘why’ and ‘I don’t understand’ all stringing together into a blur.

When Ron approached, leaned over him, and picked him up Harry barely recognised his best friend. There was a cold, spiteful, anger in his eyes and a cruel delight that Harry usually only saw in Malfoy’s face. It seemed to contort Ron into something alien and cruel.

He was talking though, hands invading and ripping robes off Harry’s body.

“You think you’re so special, perfect Harry Potter. You get everything you want and I’m bloody sick of it!”

Ron grabbed Harry’s arms and forced them up into the manacles.

“And I thought somebody should bloody well put you in your place. I thought you needed it”

Then he walked over to the chest of drawers,

(“I don’t think you properly understand...”)

ended the petrifying curse,

(“Mate... this isn’t bloody funny. Let me go! I swear I...”)

placed his wand down

(“...is what you deserve, you arrogant, entitled...”)

and started rummaging through the drawers,

(“...you’re scaring me mate...”)

shrugged,

(“I’m bloody well going to enjoy this.”)

then moved back towards the bed,

(“Are you polyjuiced? Stop this, stop this right...”)

undressing as he went.

Harry was starting to have a pretty good idea where this was going.

His heart was pounding in his throat but he found himself completely unable to move.

As the person who looked like his best friend straddled him, Harry wondered where his Gryffindor courage had gone, where the boy who’d struggled against Voldemort’s bindings less than six months ago was hiding.

Because he didn’t want to be... didn’t want what was happening and yet he couldn’t seem to do anything but lie there in shock.

His legs were around the man’s shoulders now, fingers were teasing around his arsehole, sliding closer and closer but never in.

“Yeah, you’re just going to lie there and take it” and then Harry’s world was pain. He was distantly aware of screaming and crying but he couldn’t focus on that.

There was a pain like a thousand knives cutting him open from the inside crawling up his spine.

There was a sandpapery tearing pain between his butt cheeks and his vision was blurring and shooting stars.

He could hear moaning and grunting,

“whore,”

“not so arrogant now are you,”

“fuck-toy”

rolling past his ears in a stream of sound he couldn’t block out.

The strange feeling of something thick pushing in and out, in and out, sped up and with it the tempo of the words surrounding him until - with a shout (and a sob from Harry) - his arse was filled with liquid and the man pulled out.

Harry turned his head to the side and simply lay there.

He could hear the imposter - it _had_ to be an imposter - moving about, clothing himself, picking up his wand. The manacles unlocked themselves, his arms fell to his side, and despite the pain he involuntarily curled into the foetal position.

There was a click, a laughing “thanks for the fuck!” and then he was alone.

Around him the room reformed. Soft light spilled from an unknown source, a tray with hot-chocolate appeared on a suddenly there bedside table and next to it lay a small, discreet pamphlet titled simply ‘Aftercare.’

He didn’t know how long he stayed there before he was able to slowly sit up and notice that the room now contained a large bath with bath salts and herbs. He carefully inched his way to the bath and lowered himself down. There was a stinging pain accompanying the comforting warmth of the water and out of the corner of his eyes he saw the awful, awful, bed disappear.

In that moment, Harry found himself laughing hysterically. No wonder the room hadn’t wanted to let him in, it knew what it was being required to become: a comfortable place for bad things to happen. Without noticing his laughter turned into hacking sobs that shook his body. When he was unable to cry anymore he slowly and carefully washed himself with the soap the room had provided. Standing, he towelled himself with a fluffy towel that had appeared as he exited, looked at the clothes he’d worn before and -

He couldn’t. He couldn’t wear those clothes ever again.

Unsurprisingly the room complied and provided him with a soft, woollen dressing gown and slippers. Pulling those on instead he opened the pamphlet which by now was incessantly knocking against his head demanding attention.

Sighing he read about how he needed to seek medical attention immediately. He needed to be checked for sexually transmitted diseases of both the mundane and magical kind. He needed to be checked to see if he’d suffered any internal damage. He needed healing potions or he risked his injuries becoming infected.

This was too much. This was.

He couldn’t.

How could he?

He had to.

Grimacing he picked up his satchel, crept out of the Room of Requirement, and stealthily made his way to the hospital wing.

***

When he arrived Madam Pomfrey clucked and fussed about inappropriate attire but Harry didn’t respond. He just stood there, waiting. Frowning she approached him, started to put her arm around his shoulder to lead him towards a bed and he couldn’t contain a full-body flinch. Her frown deepened and she showed him where to go.

Harry hesitated. He didn’t want to get on a bed again... but at least on this one there wasn’t space for another person. Gingerly he settled himself down on his side. He wasn’t looking so he missed the complete and utter devastation that flashed across Madam Pomfrey’s face when she saw that.

Softly she told him that it was ok, that he was safe now, and she passed him a calming draught. She started casting diagnostic charms and told him that while she hated to do it, his Head of House would have to be alerted.

Harry didn’t know how he would have reacted to that without the calming draught, as it was he simply didn’t have any energy left to be embarrassed or fight. He closed his eyes and let it happen. Just like he’d let everything else happen.

He missed breakfast and the mornings’ classes the next day. Instead he spent it downing potions and watching Madam Pomfrey check that all her spells had worked. He also spent a rather uncomfortable half-hour being given advice on dealing with trauma and questioned about whether he was _sure_ he didn’t know who’d done it.

Which was irritating, he wasn’t protecting anyone! He wasn’t scared that they’d hurt him if they found out he’d said anything. He didn’t know! It couldn’t be Ron, it was someone who had worn his face and he didn’t know who that could be. Polyjuice was, after all, something that Hermione had brewed in Second Year and could be brewed easily by a smart sixth year or a seventh year studying a Potions OWL.

The little voice that murmured quietly that _I was with him for longer than an hour and nothing changed_ was ruthlessly suppressed. It just, it just couldn’t be. Eventually McGonagall had sighed and told him that when he decided to tell them, they’d believe him and take appropriate steps.

Which was why it was lunch time and Harry found himself slipping into the Great Hall pretending everything was normal. It wasn’t though. He couldn’t help looking at everyone around him, feeling people brushing against him, and wondering who it was. Without noticing his heart-rate increased, his eyes darted everywhere, and he started shaking slightly. Moving quickly he made his way to the Gryffindor table, grabbed a seat right on the end and facing into the hall so that he had no one behind him.

Laughing Dean and Seamus called “oi mate what are you doing all the way over there?”

“Best seat in the house!” he called back and started to eat. Hermione came rushing in with a stack of books. Frowning she looked between Harry and the rest but then she plopped down across from Harry. She leaned in

“Are you ok? You weren’t in class, I took notes! Was it Dumbledore -“

“It’s ok ‘Mione, I had a bit of a cold and went to see Madam Pomfrey.”

She smiled and relaxed and soon they were joined by a migrating horde of their friends who all stood up, plates in hand, and joined Harry. They thought it was a right laugh to be sitting at the end of the table. “It’s like we’re ickle firsties again!” cried Fred (or George). Ron, sitting next to Hermione, leaned over and stole a bacon sarnie from her plate and then said: “this is a proper riot, the munchkins are hovering”

Indeed the first years were all standing in a crowd together looking nervously at the older students that had taken their place. Eventually one brave soul led her friends to a new position at the table. When they sat down and didn’t get shouted at they all seemed to deflate in relief - which caused Ron to declare that the “head firstie” earned five points for courage in the face of adversity. Lee Jordan reached over high fived every first year he could reach.

Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled out a book on Ancient Runes. Harry in the meantime was silently convincing himself that if it had been Ron that had done _that_ because then he would be acting differently. It had to be someone who used polyjuice because Ron was acting completely normal.

***

Over the next couple of weeks Harry found himself acting in ways which surprised him and drew a few confused looks from Hermione. He always positioned himself at the back of a crowd. He started spending more time sitting with Hermione in a corner rather than in a group of noisy friends. He was quieter in the crowd of his friends and less quick to offer an opinion. He didn’t rise to Umbridge’s taunts or respond to Snape’s bullying.

His sleeping schedule was completely shot. He was terrified of closing his eyes and having the memories and thoughts and fear intrude before losing consciousness and dreaming about what had happened. He was still seeing that mysterious door but more often than not, when he reached it, it opened into the Room of Requirement. He had also been unable to work up the courage to schedule another DA meeting.

Zacharias Smith had started commenting that of course Harry wouldn’t do anything unless it was easy. Ginny joined Hermione in her concerned frowning crusade and even Fred and George noticed (if their constant campaign to play pranks on him was any sign). Eventually Harry had caved to pressure and used Hermione’s coins to let everyone know that there was a DA meeting two days later.

When the day of reckoning arrived he contrived to be set up in the library and be found working furiously on a essay for Care of Magical Creatures. He had books spread out and sheets of parchment with diagrams of Erumpents and various notes surrounding him. When Hermione arrived to fetch him for DA he looked up, pretended to be completely frazzled, and begged her to stand in for him just this once.

He attempted to do the same thing (albeit with Potions) when the next meeting arrived but Ginny was characteristically unsympathetic to his ranting about Snape and completely unrealistic amounts of work. She had instead pulled him up and propelled him to the seventh floor.

Summoning his last reserves of courage he reached out opened the door. He nearly collapsed when he saw beyond it a room full of students. That trusty Room; with its Dumbledore’s Army sign and strange collection of mistletoe now floating around in commemoration of the season.

What Harry hadn’t counted on after defeating his fear of the Room, was that standing in front of a group of students all looking to him for leadership had suddenly become terrifying. All he could think about as they congregated and told him they were “really glad you’re back Harry!” was a voice in his ear whispering _this is what you get for swanning around like you own the place_ and _you’re not our bloody leader_.

Still, he wasn’t going to let some prick run his life. The DA was important and they’d voted that he lead them. So what if... no, that wasn’t right, they wanted him to teach them so he would. Taking a deep breath he started: “Welcome everyone. Today we’ll be studying...”

***

At the end of the lesson Harry completely ignored Cho standing conveniently close to the mistletoe and stumbled out towards the bathrooms where bent over a toilet and vomited, feeling at once completely terrified and completely elated.

Having seen Harry “break out of your odd mood, oh Harry I was so worried” and teach the DA, Hermione continued her campaign against Umbridge. Over the next few days she started telling Harry that he should “fight back against Ministry propaganda” and get his version of events out there. For a brief moment Harry had thought she was talking about what had happened earlier that term but then remembered the Graveyard.

He started laughing so hard he cried, bending over and eventually just sitting on the floor. Hermione was hovering and trying to figure out what was so funny about non-violent resistance but Harry couldn’t stop. Merlin, Voldemort would probably piss himself that he was no longer the scariest thing in Harry’s life. That Harry had bigger problems than a Dark Lord who was suspiciously inactive. He couldn’t believe he’d actually _forgotten_ for a brief moment about Little Hangleton.

Right on the heels of that thought was a wave of self-loathing that he’d caused Cedric’s death and then forgotten about the other boy. This did not, however, last long. After seeking a fourth bottle of Dreamless Sleep, Madam Pomfrey had provided him with booklets on dealing with Trauma which contained helpful information on assigning blame to the right people and combating unhealthy habits of thinking.

That meant that he was able to firmly remind himself that - since he had not placed himself in the tournament or spelled the trophy into a portkey or colluded with Death Eaters - he was not to blame. He also firmly told himself that had he not encouraged Cedric to take the trophy and it had not been a trap he would have done something he felt to be morally reprehensible.

He then found himself laughing even harder. He’d been raped and he was probably the most well-adjusted he’d been in his entire life. No irrational bouts of anger or misplaced guilt, just overwhelming and crippling anxiety.

Oh Merlin he’d been raped. He’d been -

It was at around this point that he discovered Hermione had marched him to the Hospital Wing and into the path of a determined matron with a calming draught.

After a brief (and completely unexpected) midday nap, he woke to Hermione with her determined face standing next to him. She looked simultaneously like a righteous warrior about to lead troops into battle and a worried best friend. Her frown had softened and she leaned over to put her hand on his.

“Harry, I’m worried about you. I know you haven’t been sleeping well and you started to withdraw into yourself. I thought it was your scar hurting and that you’d maybe quieted a bit but... that’s not it is it? Oh Harry, I’m so worried. You know I won’t judge you, I’m just. What’s wrong? I can’t... I don’t... is it, is it, V-V-Voldemort?”

Watching her earnest face and her mouth draw together in the way it only did when she was trying not to cry, Harry wondered why he hadn’t said anything earlier. She was brilliant and clever and smart and wouldn’t blame him at all. In fact she’d throw herself into helping him figure out who had hurt him. Why, exactly had he kept it a secret? She wouldn’t think he was weak or...

Taking a deep breath he focused his eyes on a small spot of the hospital floor and started to speak. When he finished she threw her arms around him and Harry felt like he had let light shine into a small part of himself for the first time in forever. She released him, nodded briskly and said:

“If you want to keep talking about it, I’ll listen, otherwise I assume you don’t want to” she’d paused to give him time to say something and when he kept silent she promptly started talking about her charms essay. Walking down to the Great Hall for dinner he felt like his life was back on course.

Until, that is, Hermione Jean Granger saw Ronald Bilius Weasley sitting and laughing with Dean. Twirling her wand in a complicated fashion she called out “ _Avis!”_ there was a bang and a flock of yellow birds flew at Ron’s face. Ron was flailing, beating ineffectually at the birds attacking him, and Hermione strode forward.

“What are you... Hermione, wait! Polyjuice, _poly-_ ”  
“Oi, what’cho do that for?”  
And slightly off towards the Slytherin side of the hall a breathless voice proclaimed:  
“I know that face, Weasel’s in for it now!”

Completely ignoring Harry’s attempts to intervene Hermione pulled her arm back and socked Ron in the jaw so hard that he staggered back and fell into the Gryffindor table.

Harry reached his hand out to prevent further violence and up at the Head Table Professor McGonagall started to make her way towards her fifth years.

Hermione stood with her arms on her hips. Her entire body was vibrating with rage. Her eyes were flashing and when she spoke her voice sounded like nothing else except for barely leashed fury:

“You! You fucking sub-human worm! How could you _do something like that!_ ”

Beside her Harry was still attempting to talk her down but there was nothing for it. Hell hath no fury like a righteously vindictive Hermione. There were teachers on fire, slapped Malfoys, and reporters in bottles which could attest to that fact. Nothing could stop her.

Well, nothing except for Professor McGonagall stepping in front of her, disarming her, and starting to push her out towards her office. Without pausing she called back over her shoulder:

“You too Misters Potter and Weasley”

Harry started to speak

“Sorry, I don-” then he turned and saw Ron’s face.

For a brief moment everything stopped. He’d only seen that expression of pure loathing once before: on his back in the Room of Requirement. Then he was lost. He lunged at Ron only to be pulled back kicking and screaming by Angelina Johnson who propelled him out of the Hall to a cacophony of sound.

***

In McGonagall’s office Hermione steadfastly refused to explain herself except to say that “he deserved worse.” Harry was similarly taciturn. Lips firmly pressed together he didn’t say a word in his own defence.

Umbridge - present in her capacity as High Inquisitioner - was excitedly talking about how this showed that Harry was out of control and Hogwarts’ discipline desperately needed an upheaval. Professor McGonagall on the other hand was looking between the three of them with slowly dawning comprehension.

In the end both Harry and Hermione lost Hogsmede privileges and were sentenced to serve detention every weekend until the end of the school year (although McGonagall had quickly stepped in to say she would supervise so Umbridge had time for her duties). Hermione was stripped of her prefectship and Harry of his place on the Quidditch team. It was only McGonagall’s understanding of what had prompted their behaviour and her subsequent decision to talk Umbridge down that had prevented their expulsion.

Outside her office, Ron turned and walked away with a snide

“Watch your arse Harry”

For a minute Harry struggled to breathe but Hermione looked at him fiercely then declared:

“Don’t worry Harry, this isn’t over”

Then she spun on her heel and Harry followed her through halls, past rarely seen portraits, and down copious amounts of stairs. The whole way she was talking.

“It’s not right. Just because the Ministry is interfering in Hogwarts he’s not going to face justice! Well, we’re just going to have to take things into our own hands. That is” she paused and looked at him hesitantly “if you want me too?”

For a brief moment Harry was overwhelmed with the terror of what Ron would do in response but then his betrayal and anger rose up and made themselves known. Voldemort had killed his parents, posed an existential threat to the Wizarding World, but this was personal. Ron had been his best friend. Had been the first friend he’d ever had. He’d forgiven him for his doubts during the Triwizard Tournament. Had stood by him when he was named prefect, had defended him to Malfoy on the train, had... the point was that the only choice was to fight back. To scream and rage because the alternative was to sink under the weight of his pain, so he nodded.

“In that case, we’re going to have to make some unconventional alliances. This cannot be traced back to us. Not if we want to take our OWLs” she paused to look at him fiercely “and we want to take our OWLs.”

Hermione arrived in front of the blank space of wall that hid the Slytherin common room and she started pounding.

“Malfoy! We want to speak to Malfoy!”

Nothing happened and after a few minutes of Hermione shouting (and covertly checking that they were in the right place) Harry joined in:

“Malfoy! Oi, Malfoy! We want to speak to you”

Within seconds the wall opened up and Draco stepped out, Prefect pin gleaming proudly and flanked by half of Slytherin house. He crossed his arms, raised one eyebrow, and said insouciantly:

“You called?”

***

That sorted, Harry followed Hermione in a vague sort of daze. He hadn’t honestly expected it to work. For a formal request for a truce and alliance against a common enemy, coupled with a declaration that he should have chosen Malfoy over Ron on the train in first year, to cause the Slytherin Prince to accept and join them.

“Honestly, Harry! He was jealous. And neither of you have done anything to seriously jeopardise an alliance yet. It just wouldn’t have happened unless you conceded he was right about something. Anyway, he might be a prejudiced little snot but he’s not his father. Now that I think about it, he might have been warning us at the World Cup, not taunting. I can’t believe I let personal bias interfere with my examination of the data. Anyway, if he starts to think of you as allies then he might not join You-Know-Who. He’ll have other options.”

A statement which did rather challenge his entire worldview.

They stopped in front of the Hufflepuff barrels and Hermione turned to face him.

“You’re not safe in your dormitory and there’s no way that you’ll get approval from a teacher to sleep with a different year. Not without telling them what happened and even then Umbridge could overturn it. But I read in _Hogwarts: A History_ that Helga Hufflepuff would take students from other houses who weren’t safe there anymore. That’s why the Hat said Hufflepuff took all the rest in its song. So if you apply for Sanctuary and the magic of Hufflepuff house accepts your plea you won’t... you won’t be a Gryffindor anymore but... you’d be _safe”_

Harry felt the world tilt precariously on its axis. He was a Gryffindor, his parents were Gryffindors. He belonged in the house of the brave, in front of the common room fire, dodging the Creevey brothers and laughing at pranks pulled by the Weasley twins. He belonged in the house where his parents had been before him.

Except... there was a commonality between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor wasn’t there -between their loyalty and his chivalry and between their hard-work and his courage? It wasn’t the same but Hermione was right. He could not sleep in the same room as Ron and the staff could or would do nothing.

“What do I do?”

Launching herself at him she hugged him tightly and then stepped back firmly and told him.

He took a deep breath and then sank to his knees, in the traditional position of supplication. He bowed his head, leaned one hand forward to touch the barrels and started to speak:

“Noble Hufflepuff, home of the just and refuge of the oppressed, hear my plea. I am beset by an enemy in the House I called home, I can find no restitution. May your magic judge my case and give me Sanctuary”

For a brief moment it looked like nothing would happen. Then the Fat Friar appeared and the very air began to prickle around him. There was a glimmer of gold surrounding his hand and head and Harry had the uncomfortable feeling that something was pressing down on him and rifling through his head. There was a sound like a thunderclap and the Fat Friar floated forward.

“You may stand, your request has been granted. Welcome to Hufflepuff” then he turned to Hermione and said “Unless you also are a supplicant, you must leave”

From behind the barrels, Harry thought he could hear a bell and a clear voice calling “Gather! Sanctuary has been granted!”

Hermione nodded, dashed forward and hugged Harry tightly again, then disappeared around the corner.

Just as she left the barrels started swirl and disappear into the wall, revealing a passage. The Fat Friar nodded encouragingly and Harry started walking through it. It didn’t take long, only a few moments, but he couldn’t help being nervous. This was the house which had rejected him the year before, the house whose prefect had been murdered in front of his eyes, the house of Zacharias freaking Smith - what was he doing?

Harry thought that his newly developed anxiety disorder was rather irritating.

He emerged into a roundish room, shaped like an oval, painted in a light yellow with a large portrait of a friendly woman holding a goblet in one hand and resting the other on a book of some sort directly opposite the entrance. Her hair was loose around her face and she was staring down at him. Directly below that portrait was a cream-brick fireplace, in front of which stood Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott and four other students with prefect badges.

Looking slightly perplexed Ernie stepped forward:

“A hearty welcome to you Harry, the newest member of Hufflepuff House. While the circumstances are certainly less than ideal we are delighted to give you Sanctuary. Hufflepuff is a noble house with a proud history of tolerance, hard-work, and loyalty. You are one of us now and to a man, and woman, we stand in defence of each other”

With that speech finished the other Hufflepuffs dispersed and Harry was able to get a proper look at his new common room. There were beanbags and cushions gathered close to a bookshelf in one corner. To the left were stairs leading to the woman’s quarters and to the right, stairs to the men’s. There was a study area and corner filled with boardgames. The floor was wooden with a large cream rug taking up the centre of the room.

Following Ernie up to the fifth year boys bedroom, Harry ignored his friend’s probing questions about whether his abrupt arrival had anything to do with “that violent brawl at dinner.”

The fifth year boys room was clearly already well-loved. On the far end, next to a built in reading nook, was a bed area decorated with posters of Cambridge and an OWL study timetable. Next to that bed stood another, also with a study timetable affixed prominently, decorated with a large Pride of Portee throw. On the other side of the room were three more - two of which had been decorated (one covered with books on Law and the Wizengamot, the other decorated with photos of friends and family in various poses). The third bed was empty save for the appearance of Harry’s battered school trunk at its foot.

With a tired smile at Ernie, Harry apologised and said he’d had a very trying day. He flopped down on the bed, spelled his curtains shut, and tried to sleep. He succeeded uncharacteristically quickly but was woken silently screaming three hours later after a nightmare featuring Ron’s leering face.

***

The next morning Harry woke bright and early to find Ernie already hard at work studying in the common room. He was joined by a few sixth and seventh years, evidently ‘unafraid of toil’ was truth in advertising. He was waved over to the table by Ernie and he sat down cautiously but no conversation took place which gave him time to pull out a piece of parchment, chew on his quill, and struggle to word a letter to Sirius.

Eventually he settled on penning a few brief sentences -

 _Dear Padfoot,_  
_I recently had the great pleasure of discovering my own Wormtail! It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, Wormtail did stay at his place for a while. I am also finding myself in the company of a group of fierce badgers who I have claimed as my own._  
_I find that it’s truly a pleasure to live in a new location, don’t you agree?_  
_Hope you are well!_  
_Harry_

He was rather pleased with his missive and stared down at for a while in pride before folding it up and placing it in an envelope.

He was startled out of his reverie by Ernie casting a sonorous on his voice and bellowing:

“Everyone gather! United Hufflepuff breakfast!” before starting to pack his things. Faced with Harry’s perplexed face he explained that on days that the prefects deemed it necessary the entire house showed up en masse at breakfast and dinner and would move in clumps. He whispered conspiratorially

“We spent most of last year in United formation, it’s old hat by now”

They grouped together by year group, first years at front and seventh at back before making their way to the Great Hall. As other students trickled in and took their seats they didn’t notice Hufflepuff’s addition. Professor Sprout had also made sure not to draw any attention to the house change and had instead sent Harry his revised timetable via Hannah Abbott.

The other Hufflepuffs were laughing and taking bets on how long it would take staff and students alike to notice what had occurred. Oswald Willows, the boy with the legal texts, had leaned forward and explained that it was what traditionally occurred when Sanctuary was given. Hufflepuff treated its new additions as if they had always _been_ Hufflepuff. He’d then started pontificating at length about various wizards who had gained Sanctuary over the centuries of Hogwarts’ existence.

This had caused Harry to wonder if pomposity was a secondary and unmentioned trait of the house, much as recklessness was for Gryffindor and pride for Ravenclaw. Harry finished the rest of breakfast and made his way to a double period of Transfiguration (dropping his letter to Sirius off at the Owlery on the way) trying to remember if he knew any other Hufflepuffs that shared the trait. Unable to do so he wondered if perhaps excessive exposure to the posh duo of Ernie and Justin caused their fellow dorm mates to pick up pontification by osmosis. The presence of Zacharius couldn’t help. Sitting down between Ernie and Justin he vowed to watch himself. Merlin forbid he start too!

Apart from a surreptitious wink as she passed his table McGonagall didn’t intimate that she found anything odd about his appearance. As a result the Ravenclaws completely failed to notice their new classmate and, with a spare period for study straight after, Harry made it to lunch without any rumours about resorting spreading through Hogwarts.

It was nice and also slightly hilarious.

Lunch, of course, was when Draco (first names were par for the course amongst allies) decided to make his first move. Prefect Pin proudly on display he approached the Gryffindor table and announced he was conducting a uniform spot check.

“Educational Decree Number 10 was very clear on the matter of personal grooming” said Pansy Parkinson over his shoulder.

As Fred and George grabbed at each other in mock terror and Neville started to look over his clothes fretfully, Hermione took the opportunity to angrily enquire why they decided to check in the middle of the day when people’s robes could reasonably be expected to be in slight disarray.

“Just felt like it” said Draco with a smirk before he and Pansy started to make their way down the table. To the complete surprise of most students and teachers in the hall they simply pointed out whether a shirt was untucked or a robe slightly wrinkled. A few times Draco and Pansy even made a grand show of generously using spells to straighten a fellow student’s appearance.

When Neville startled in fright and spilled pumpkin juice all over his front, Draco simply cleaned it up and dropped a booklet of grooming charms next to him. It was at this point that the twins started to enquire _as to whether you are feeling quite well... or have you, perchance, heard the word ‘imperio’ in your general vicinity recently?_

That’s when they reached Ron Weasley and stopped. Draco clutched at his heart in mock horror, flung his other arm to cover his eyes, staggered back a pace for effect, and then stage whispered

“Pansy, please tell me I’m hallucinating”

For her part Pansy had lifted one dainty hand to her mouth and let out a tiny (but carrying gasp) before saying:

“Oh Merlin, no. Darling, that’s a complete breach of Educational Decree Number 10”

Then the fun started. They loudly railed against the fact that his hair wasn’t tidy (“Darling, hairbrushes exist. Are you too poor to afford one?”), wondered whether he’d had a shower that morning (“Pansy, I think... I think the smell’s coming from Weaselby”), enquired whether he had been taught how to eat politely (“there are crumbs all down your shirt and, oh Merlin, please tell me your hands aren’t sticky!”). They’d ended by declaring that they hadn’t seen such a flagrant disregard for personal grooming “ever, in my life, darlings” and sentencing him to one nights detention with Umbridge for every infraction and sauntered back to the Slytherin table.

The Great Hall was dead silent, broken only by Ron’s indignant spluttering (“how the hell did they find thirty-five things wrong?”) and a second year confusedly asking her friend “I don’t understand, they didn’t take any points from Gryffindor?”

***

Ravenclaw proved to be similarly inobservant during the latter half of the day and being taught by Trelawney and Binns, meant there was no uproar from the staff to draw any attention. It was at dinner that the news broke. Harry had just been engaged in a discussion about career prospects with Sally-Anne Perks and Justin when the Gryffindor table burst out with a flurry of questions triggered by, of all people, Neville.

His quiet and nervous friend had leaned over to Hermione and stuttered out that he hoped Harry hadn’t been expelled only, he hadn’t seen him all day? That question had triggered Ron to drawl loudly that he did wonder why he hadn’t seen Harry in class that day because as far as he knew, Harry hadn’t been expelled or unwell. At which point Seamus scoffed “yeah, it’s the not showing up for the class that’s causing you alarm and not the fact that _there’s only four beds in our dorm_ ”

At which point the hall erupted in noise and speculation.

Unnoticed in all the confusion was the way that all of Hufflepuff stood to attention. Oswald reached down to his satchel and pulled out _Hogwarts: A History_ and opened it to the page on seeking Sanctuary. Zacharius was surreptitiously prodded into submission. Ernie took a deep breath, straightened his Prefect pin, and squared his shoulders. Harry tried to resist the urge to run and hide.

“Hem hem. Pardon me but did Mr Potter not attend his classes for a full day? That would be - ”

“Dolores, I promise you Mr Potter was in class today. He successfully transfigured a porcupine into a quill this morning.”

“And I consulted him on his inner eye this very afternoon. Why, it was tragic! Violence, betrayal and - ”

“ _Thank you,_ Sybill”

Down at the Gryffindor table Neville loudly panicked:

“I swear we didn’t have transfiguration today, Hermione! Or, or, did I go to all the wrong classes?”

 A statement which caused Umbridge to frown and Dumbledore to interject, with no twinkle evident in his blue eyes:

“Now, Minerva, you know as well as I do that students must attend their scheduled classes when they are scheduled. If Mr Potter did not do so today, then we must investigate”

“He was exactly where he was scheduled to be, you should kno-” then she broke off and stared at him in undisguised horror before changing tack completely “Albus, _what have you done?_ ”

Down at the Hufflepuff table the upper years started whispering to each other and Ernie turned to Harry and said reassuringly

“Well, my family’s long and illustrious support of Albus Dumbledore just ended. I’ll have to write them a letter tonight.”

Across at the Gryffindor table, Hermione was having the same reaction as Hufflepuff so Harry figured that it was something to do with his application for Sanctuary. He gathered that it did not paint Dumbledore in a favourable light.

 “I’ll remind you that I am High Inquisitioner of Hogwarts. I demand an explanation!”

Sadly for the Hogwarts rumour mill it was at this point that the staff noticed that their conversation was being listened to avidly. Professor McGonagall leaned forward, spoke softly, and then followed Umbridge out of the hall accompanied by Dumbledore and Sprout.

Behind them the hall burst out into cries of: “what the hell was that about?” “Did you see McGonagall’s face?” “wait... so Harry isn’t expelled?” and Hufflepuff decided to bid a hasty tactical retreat in the midst of the commotion.

Year by year they stood, giggling or gossiping loudly before dashing from the Hall in a cacophony of sound. Firsties and sixth years left, third years, then second. Then it was their turn, fifth year Hufflepuff stood and clumped around their newest member, shielding him from the crowd as they left.

Hannah and Susan were loudly discussing the legal ramifications of a Headmaster not knowing about a change in a student’s circumstances. Justin pompously informed Ernie that “I say, isn’t Hogwarts supposed to be the premier educational institution in the Isles? This sort of thing would be completely unheard of at Eton.” On his other side, Tina Peterson leaned over to Sally-Anne and sighed about the fact that “this, this is why we’re so forgettable. I swear we could run away and elope tomorrow but people would just say _who_ ”

Then they were out, through the double-doors of the Great Hall and sprinting down to Hufflepuff House. When they had dashed through the passage and into Hufflepuff proper they collapsed into laughter.

“Oh, my heart, feel it!” giggled Hannah.

In the reading nook a second year muggleborn was humorously re-enacting what happened in the Hall with commentary. This was made clear by the fact that said commentary was peppered with phrases such as “fall back men, fall back” and a bellowed “RETREAT!” When the fourth and seventh years arrived, with their prefects bringing up the rear, the boy clutched at a friend - by now well in the spirit of things - and tearfully declared that “not a man was left behind”

***

Between serving detentions with Umbridge, avoiding Ron, and settling into his new House it was easy to miss the passage of time. It hadn’t taken long for the school to put together his new house colours with the tradition of Sanctuary, even if they couldn’t work out why he’d done it. Gryffindor House in particular treated Harry with hurt and anger whenever the met him.  The whispers that followed him everywhere he went, the speculation that he lost his mind, and the dark stares were fairly easy to ignore. He’d dealt with it off and on since his second year. It seemed like no time had passed when he woke up and it was time to leave for the Christmas holidays.

They weren’t going to Grimmauld Place, with Dumbledore ignoring him all summer and the magic of Sanctuary refusing to inform him of the change neither Hermione nor Harry were precisely simpatico with the Order. The Grangers had invited him to join them in their Christmas celebration which is why he found himself on the Christmas train for the first time since he had entered the wizarding world.

The train had been decorated with Christmas charms. It was bedecked in tinsel and baubles. The windows had been frosted and Christmas carol lyrics written on them. Harry, Hermione, Ernie, Justin, Oswald, and Luna all piled into a compartment which proclaimed that it was ‘the most wonderful time of the year.’ A sentiment which was joyfully seconded when the beverage trolley passed and they were able to buy peppermint flavoured hot chocolate and eggnog and a special wizards drink that tasted like Christmas felt.  

When the snack trolley passed half-an-hour later Justin decided to buy enough candy canes, chocolate bon-bons, and gingerbread men to for everyone in the carriage to eat themselves into a stomach ache. Hermione had excitedly grabbed a bon-bon for herself and told Harry to stock up.

“My parents are dentists! Chocolate is only for very special occasions in my house”

Oswald gasped in mock horror and clutched a perturbed Justin before leaning over to Hermione, dramatically and tearfully declaring that with his legal expertise he would plead her case for more chocolate ‘pro-bono my dear Granger’ and indeed, when they all arrived at Kings Cross he began walking towards the Grangers with firm purpose. That crusade was halted when a small blonde girl in pigtails launched herself out of the crowd and latched onto his legs shouting “I missed you big brother! Missed you, missed you, missed you!”

The Grangers greeted Harry cordially while Mrs Granger swept her daughter into a hug. They then crossed back over to the muggle side accompanied by a litany of “oh my dear, you’ve grown so much” and “have you been eating enough?” and “I do worry about you in that draughty castle, moving staircases - honestly” and “oh my brilliant, brilliant, girl.” Hermione was flushed and happy under the attention. It had been only ten minutes but he already understood his best friend better.

Beside him Mr Granger started asking about his studies and Quidditch. He seemed genuinely interested and before long they were engaged in proper conversation. They’d passed through the turnstiles and onto a train bound for Cambridgeshire without Harry noticing the transition.

When they arrived in Cambridge, they made their way past the botanical gardens and then into a small sidestreet. It looked nothing like Privet Drive with its cookie-cutter block houses. Instead the houses were all freestanding and architecturally varied. They piled out of the car and into a tastefully decorated house. Out of every corner spilled little signs of love and respect within the small Granger family.

Hermione led him up to a guest bedroom and then back downstairs for dinner talking excitedly about her plans for the holidays. About how he could borrow a bike (“it’s like flying, Harry!”) and they could cycle around the city. She was going to take him punting and show him the city of learning that she grew up in.

Seated around the dinner table, eating lasagne that Mr Granger made, Harry felt himself relax. It was clear that Hermione hadn’t breathed a word to her parents about Voldemorts return. He could be safe here. He could forget for a little while and simply rest. All he had to do was spend time with his best friend on the first vacation he’d ever been on.

It was odd, he thought, that you could not notice how heavy the burden was that you were carrying until it was gone.

***

Harry had just arrived back in Hufflepuff house and fallen down on his bed, listening to Oswald ribbing Ernie about the Pride of Portee’s showing at a charity match on Boxing Day, when a bell started ringing and a clear voice called “Gather! Sanctuary has been granted!”

As they all started to make their ways downstairs, Justin turned to Harry and said

“Well, I say, you’ve started quite the exodus haven’t you?”

Harry couldn’t do anything but nod in confusion. Hermione had told him that Sanctuary hadn’t been granted for a little over a hundred years prior to his supplication. In fact it was following the Blood Feud Wars of the seventeenth century that Sanctuary had slowly died down - Hogwarts had instituted a firm anti-intra-House bullying policy and a sharp schism from the rest of the magical community precisely to stop the practice.

When they were all standing in a semi-circle, watching the entrance passageway form, Harry wondered who exactly was seeking the protection of Hufflepuff. Just behind him and to the left it was clear that the portrait of Helga was just as interested in proceedings. He thought that if it was another Gryffindor that appeared, if it was another potential victim of his erstwhile friend, then he would not be held responsible for his actions.

Never in his wildest imaginings did he think that the person seeking Sanctuary would be a gaunt and bruised Draco Malfoy.

This time the greeting was given by a stern looking Sarah Fletcher, the seventh year prefect.

“Welcome to Hufflepuff House, Draco Malfoy. Sanctuary has been granted, and we do so in honour of all those Badgers who came before us. Hufflepuff is a place of safety and tolerance, we will broker no dissent. You are one of us now, we will defend you and you will defend us.”

She gave a brisk nod and the rest of Hufflepuff house dispersed, leaving Draco to stand awkwardly in front of the other fifth year boys. As the silence stretched he started to look more and more uncomfortable and Harry became unpleasantly aware of the fact that he’d brokered an alliance with Draco.

The other boy was looking closer to a breakdown the longer they stood there so Harry said he’d talk to him and show him the way to the dormitory. After this pronouncement he was greeted with five identical faces of pure relief before four of them scarpered away and up the stairs.

At a loss Harry opened his mouth, shuffled his feat, and said:

“So... you want to talk about it?”

It turned out that Draco did in fact want to talk about it. At length. With dramatic re-enactments.

While Harry had the best holiday of his life, Draco had his worst. He had discovered that his father had lied about being under Imperius during the first war which had shaken him to his core. He then discovered that Voldemort was planning to move his entourage into Malfoy Manor, a fact which terrified him.

Draco had turned to his mother, asking for help to get out. He’d thought that despite her Black upbringing she’d help him, perhaps she’d make contact with her disinherited sister who could take him in. That had turned out to be factually incorrect. That night his father had burst into his room later that night, beat him till he was unconscious, cast healing spells, and then magically tortured him into compliance.

The next day he’d seen the family members of quite a few Slytherins and some students come to the manor to ‘visit’ and he knew that if he tried to defect, his House would be exceedingly unsafe for him. If Voldemort put a price on his head, which was incredibly likely following a defection, it would be incredibly easy for him to be kidnapped by one of his housemates.

“There are Hufflepuff Death Eaters, which was unnerving. I’d always thought they were like ducklings - cute, innocent, slightly naive ducklings. They made the best faces when I insulted them. Can’t do that anymore. Still, there are less people to watch out for here so I... Well, it turns out I wouldn’t rather die than be a Hufflepuff” he paused for a moment to contemplate and then said fiercely “Also, you’re my ally and before I showed up in Hufflepuff it wasn’t an equal partnership.”

No information about why he’d changed his mind about his politics was included in his diatribe and when Harry asked he was summarily told that “I’m not an absolute idiot, that’s why.”

Harry didn’t know what to do with that so he settled for an awkward pat on the back. He saw what Draco meant about the faces then: Draco’s was an exquisite specimen right at that moment.

They walked up to the boy’s dormitory in relatively companionable silence. Harry had a brief moment to notice that the room had magically expanded to fit yet another bed before Ernie, who was standing flanked by Justin and Oswald grabbed him and pushed him to stand with Zacharius (probably spelled silent) behind them.

 “Now see here, you might have gained Sanctuary but...”

“...we have decided to withhold our judgement or...”

“...acceptance of your person and presence indefinitely.”

Oh Merlin, no. They’d practiced that. Harry felt himself cringe with second-hand embarrassment. A glance at Draco told him that the other boy was barely restraining himself from saying something cutting.

“Duly noted, may I pass?”

The other boys were looking flabbergasted at Draco’s response but Harry noticed the slightly clipped way Draco spoke and the way he held himself tightly together. As they dispersed to their beds for the second time that night, and Draco passed him to enter his canopy, Harry leaned over and whispered

“You’re a paragon of virtue Malfoy. A real saint.”

The scathing look that generated brought light to his life. It was better than lumos really.

***

The next morning Hufflepuff House formed up once again. This time they decided to make explicit the defection of the Prince of Slytherin and walked in two by two. The gasps and whispers which accompanied Harry walking peacefully side by side with Draco and then them both sitting down at the same table rivalled the noise of the Quidditch World Cup.

Draco only ate a small amount of breakfast and then spent the rest of his time sipping coffee. Alert to it by now, Harry noticed that - despite the fact that his new housemate looked supremely unconcerned- there was a tight coil of tension along the other boys back.

When a Great Horned Owl swooped across the hall, a smoking red letter ensconced in its talons, Draco relaxed imperceptibly. He lifted a lazy hand to the sky and plucked the letter from the owl. Then he took another sip of his coffee, picked up a letter opener that Harry hadn’t noticed placed next to his plate and neatly sliced through the envelope.

The voice that emerged was not that of Lucius Malfoy but one that was cold, cultured, and feminine. She did not shout but artificially amplified as the Howler was, it didn’t matter.

“Draco, dearest, we are all very disappointed with you. Cease this needless misbehaviour and return to your House immediately. This is really very unbecoming of you and should you continue along this path, unpleasant measures will be taken”

Her voice stopped and Draco continued to drink his coffee as it nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. For the rest of the day he ignored Trelawney’s predictions of terrible doom, the laughter and threats of other Slytherins, a fourth year Ravenclaw knocking him to the floor and _accidentally_ kicking him, and even Umbridge’s longwinded lecture on disruption of education at Hogwarts.

The part of Harry that valued bravery and courage, was practically swooning by the time classes ended and they returned to Hufflepuff. This was the boy he would have fairly recently dismissed as nothing more than a petty coward?

As Harry was having his slow-dawning epiphany, Draco was regaling his listening Housemates with everything he had refused to say all day. He drew himself up tall, pursed his lips, pilfered the glasses of a passing third year to perch them on the bridge of his nose, started talking about death and danger being unavoidable parts of study at Hogwarts, and “hem hem, surely you must see seeking Sanctuary is unacceptable?”

For a moment he looked at him and thought that if Draco asked, he would go out with him. Then his mind screeched to a stop as he realised what exactly he had just thought. A wave of horror and loathing seemed to break over his head. How? How could he even think about something like that? He hadn’t... he hadn’t. It couldn’t. He couldn’t.

Without being consciously aware of it he dashed to the bathroom and threw up. He couldn’t he just couldn’t. Sinking to the floor, leaning against the door, of one of the cubicles he tried to control his shaking.

First things, he had to ground himself. He touched a hand to the cold tiles of the bathroom and reminded himself that he was _here_ and _now_ and not _there_ and _then._

Second, he needed to control his breathing. Deep shaking breath in, deep shaking breath out. Repeat until... there it was. He was back in control.

Ok. What would Hermione say if she was with him in this moment?

She’d tell him that there was nothing wrong with being attracted to men. That what Ron did in no way reflected on who he was and who he was attracted to.

Which was completely trite and it wasn’t like he had noticed men in that way before... except, he had hadn’t he? He’d thought Cedric was extremely handsome at the beginning of the previous year. He’d been struck wordless by how cool Bill looked the first time he met him. Hadn’t he thought Lockhart was good-looking before he’d actually met the prat?

This was ok, this was fine. The Dursley’s had hated bloody poofs but they hated magic too. There was nothing wrong with this, except that he couldn’t imagine doing anything with anyone ever again. Also, Draco was still an arse. An attractive and slightly inspiring arse but an arse nonetheless. For that matter, he also happened to _have_ an exceptional arse.

Right, he was fine, he was stable. He could do this.

***

That night he seemed to dream about that incessant door on repeat. Whenever it opened and the Room emerged he would appear at the front of the corridor again. Over and over, each time he started at the beginning he had a vague sense of increasing irritation and frustration flooding him.

Dreams, he decided as he woke up, were incredibly strange things.

Hufflepuff went down to breakfast in formation again but found that everyone had bigger worries than a Malfoy in Hufflepuff. Over at the Gryffindor table Hermione was calming down Neville, Fred and George entered the hall saying that “between this and Dad in hospital, I just don’t know how she’s going to cope,” and when Sarah Fletcher saw a copy of the Daily Prophet she turned slightly green and walked quickly out of the room.

Nervously Harry leaned forward and picked up a discarded copy which he shared with Draco. The instant they saw the headline and photos they both blanched.

_MASS BREAKOUT - MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS ‘RALLYING POINT’ FOR OLD DEATH EATERS_

“Black” Draco snorted next to him “As if!”

Then he seemed to remember where he was and pulled himself back together, a mask of indifference slamming down on his face. He slowly poured himself a cup of coffee and started lazily reading the article. Harry thought the way that he transformed himself was pure artistry then he caught himself and focused on the injustice.

“I can’t believe Fudge is blaming Sirius! I mean -“

“Yes, well, Fudge is incompetent everyone knows that”

As they got up from breakfast and headed out to class they continued talking and debating what the Ministry’s policy meant for them both.

“- where I’m going to live come summer is still...” then he stopped abruptly. Standing in front of them, flanked by Dean and Seamus was Ron.

“Really, Harry? Hanging around with junior Death Eaters now? How could you?”

Harry couldn’t find the mind-space to respond. The air seemed thicker somehow, it wasn’t filling his lungs the way it should. There was an irritating sort of narrowness to his vision that didn’t bode well for his future and his heart was pounding in his throat so quickly that he thought he might choke on it.

If Draco sent him a small, puzzled, frown right before he said:

“Really, Weasel? Casting aspersions on my character without full knowledge? I could have you for slander if you don’t desist”

Harry didn’t notice.

If Ron gaped like a fish before clenching his fists and storming off, Harry didn’t notice. If Dean and Seamus hovered uncomfortably before following, Harry didn’t notice.

What he did notice was the way that his body followed Draco to the hospital wing, downed a calming potion, and then followed Draco back down to the Hufflepuff Common Room. Everything was slightly out of focus though and he wasn’t quite sure who had made the decision to do any of that because it wasn’t him.

When Draco disappeared for a moment everything slowly became crisper, more tangible. He moved his arms to settle around his knees and knew that he’d told them to do that. He focused on what he could feel and see immediately around him. He was on a beanbag, that had been moved in front of the fire, and -

His hand gripped a mug of hot chocolate.

Startled, he looked up and saw Draco gracefully settling himself down - like a particularly elegant parrot - with his own mug.

“We have the morning free. I’m not quite sure exactly what that was but you aren’t able to go to class in that state, much less be alone” he lifted one shoulder “so here I am”

Harry was looking at him now. Draco’s voice was soft and smooth. His cultured accent had almost completely dropped away but it was hidden in the way he pronounced his vowels. His voice didn’t have the underlying sting of a bowtruckle in it the way it had in the past when they spoke or the parrots’ showmanship the way it did for everyone else. This, Harry thought, was the way Draco sounded when he allowed himself simply to be.

It was intimate and startlingly vulnerable - although he wouldn’t be able to explain exactly why it was so if anyone asked. It just was and when Draco spoke he could focus only on his voice. There was a wordless plea in his eyes as he looked at him which, somehow, the other boy understood.

So Draco kept talking.

He spoke of finding the kitchens and spending time with the house-elves, of seeing Dobby and empathising with the creature that had also been tortured by his father. He spoke of how he hadn’t changed his mind, not really. He was still the Fae of muggle dreams; elegance and beauty and completely wild when spied beyond the glamour. No wizard was truly tame - they could not be tame and refused to pretend that they were.

As natural as breathing he slipped into a recitation:

“ _But I, so wild/_  
_your disgrace with the queer brown face/_  
_was never, never, I know, but half your child! .../_  
_All night long they danced in the rain/_  
_round and round in a dripping chain/_  
_threw their caps at the window-pane/_  
_tried to make me scream and shout/_  
_and fling the bedclothes all about ... /_  
_The King who sits on your high church steeple/_  
_has nothing to do with us fairy people!/_  
_Why did they bring me here to make me/_  
_not quite bad and not quite good/_  
_Why unless they’re wicked/_  
_do they want in spite to take me/_  
_back to their wet, wild wood? .../_  
_They live so long and they feel no pain ... /_  
_I shall never come back again!_ ”

He stopped and his face which had transformed incalculably in the process returned to a slightly pensive expression as he spoke:

“It was a muggleborn who wrote that poem, I found it in a book over the holidays, and I thought I had been almost completely wrong. Muggleborns are like us, just as wild and untamed, they just need to be taught our ways”

The hot chocolate that Harry had drunk had gone cold while he listened and his heartbeat was back to normal. He didn’t know exactly why he said it, why in that moment he decided to entrust his secret to a boy that had been his enemy, but later he thought it must have been how much of his soul that Draco had showed him.

“He raped me”

The words were out and Draco was holding himself completely still.

“I can’t help thinking that I’ve run away, that I’m not really brave. I feel like he ripped me apart and every time I see him, every time I see that his life is going just _fine_ I ... I just... I want to scream and I want to _break_ him and then I wonder... There’s so much rage... and, it, I... I scare myself.”

They sat in silence together, the only indication that Draco had heard and understood was in his white knuckles and a sudden sadness in his eyes. When lunch came and they stood and left, Harry wondered why it was that he felt ever so slightly more in control. Following Draco, he didn’t think that Draco would have been able to do the same even three months before.

***

The rest of the year passed more easily. Harry spent time with Luna petting Thestrals or going for walks around the lake in the early morning, he partnered with Neville whenever he could, studied in an alcove in the library with Hermione, and joined in the ridiculous pompous conversations his dorm-mates had with abandon. He’d sit with Draco in class and walk the halls with him. Sometimes Draco would lean over and whisper wicked commentary in his ears:

“If Hannah gets any more excited, she’ll levitate herself”

“Do you think he practiced that speech in the mirror?”

“It’s fluffy, and it’s cute, but Hagrid likes them... you go first”

Harry knew he should feel guilty, he should allow his self-righteousness to fill him, but instead he found himself indulging. There was an exhilarating kind of joy in exchanging sarcastic quips with someone else -in saying “do you reckon Trelawney’s actually going to teach or just predict my death again” and hearing in return “if you need to ask, Harry, I’m taking you to Pomfrey,” in filling parchment with sarcastic commentary and passing it back and forth during class, and in desperately trying not to laugh in the middle of a lecture.

Draco’d apologised to Neville, laid off on the Hufflepuffs, and for the most part restrained himself from bullying other students. Ron was exempted from this new behaviour which made everything just that much worse for the other boy. Professor Sprout had beamed at Draco when she noticed and bestowed a generous amount of points to Hufflepuff on account of his maturity although she did mention that he could “consider extending this clemency towards Mr Weasley”. As they left, Draco was preening, which was a bit much to put up with since all he was being was a decent person, so Harry had leaned over and said: “She didn’t give those points to you, she gave them to Hufflepuff. She thinks they tamed the dragon”

Draco had sputtered wordlessly but then he sighed, pulled out the piece of parchment on which they kept score, and dramatically marked down a tally in Harry’s favour.

In the meantime life went on. Hermione blackmailed Rita Skeeter so impressively that Draco told her seriously that he was “quite terrified of you now, Granger. Say, you don’t hold grudges do you? I’m asking for a friend.” Hermione had laughed but a few days later she’d been approached by Pansy Parkinson with a heartfelt apology and ‘gifts of reparation and alliance.’ Both Draco and Harry had been interviewed, with the other boy talking at length about what he experienced after the resurrection.

After the article was published, Sirius, as Padfoot, had sent Draco a letter and badge welcoming him to the Black Sheep of the Black Family Society (BSBFS). Andromeda had written to extend an invitation for him to stay with her over the summer holidays ‘as you have so conclusively chosen your side that you cannot have anywhere else to go.’

Umbridge solidified her power at Hogwarts, Trelawney was fired but stayed on the grounds thanks to Dumbledore’s generosity, fickle beast that that was. Harry would have been angry at the Headmaster but he found that he couldn’t be bothered, he was a tool in the other man’s arsenal and it was better to know that than be deceived. So instead he simply watched and waited for the moment that Dumbledore would decide he was important again.

If he had formed a core group consisting of him, Draco, and Hermione that spent all their spare time trying to find out as much as they could about Voldemort and how to defeat him... well, Dumbledore hardly needed to know that did he? If he was subtly distancing the DA from focusing on Hogwarts and became more political, that didn’t need to be discussed either.

With OWLs approaching, Draco’s resolution to be more mature was sorely tested. Hannah had burst into tears and cried that she was too stupid to take exams, Ernie was proudly boasting of studying eight hours a day outside of school, and Hermione handed them opinionated study planners as gifts. In every instance, Harry saw the way that Draco bit back the words he wanted to say. Not for long though, barely minutes later he’d be nudged on the shoulder with a folded piece of parchment that contained the other boy’s scathing commentary.

The DA was discovered but all its members had managed to escape. With their names so clearly marked down on parchment, however, they had all been called to the Great Hall and interrogated and Dumbledore took the fall for Hermione’s idea. While the other students murmured about how nice it was that Dumbledore was as loyal to them as they were to him, Harry shared speaking looks with Hermione and Draco. Whatever reason Dumbledore had to disappear it certainly wasn’t to protect them.

Afterwards, Hermione found Marietta Edgecombe in the bathroom in tears. Madam Pomfrey had been unable to remove the hex that had caused Sneak to be written on her face in pimples. Sobbing the other girl had begged Hermione to take it off, which she had done after hearing how: “my mum works in the ministry, and Umbridge said that... she said it would be my fault if there was an inquiry and... I tried not to but she gave me tea and she was so, sympathetic, and then I couldn’t stop talking and I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it was a mistake.”

“Oh Harry, I wasn’t thinking about coercion! She might have been drugged, oh, it would have been wrong. I don’t know _what_ I was thinking. Well, I do, but, it’s not right. She didn’t deserve that.”

When she didn’t appear to feel any guilt about the creation of the hex in the first place and Harry indignantly exclaimed that it didn’t matter about her mother, Draco had erupted in anger. He scathingly informed them that they couldn’t hold themselves as the absolute arbiters of what was right and wrong - “isn’t that what you always say, Granger? That there are other principles that should be abided by? One principle for yourself and another for everyone else is it? Self-Righteousness is all well and good if you want to go around and think that you’re better than everyone else because you know what they should be doing and believing but for one thing, you could be wrong, for another no one wants to work with people who think they’re bloody better than them” and stormed off.

They didn’t speak for a week. Harry needed to think about what he’d said and because he needed all that time to calm down and start to think rationally. At which point he reluctantly came to the conclusion that his new friend (and frequent crush) was correct. He hadn’t apologised, but he had scribbled a note to Draco in History of Magic talking about how Binns needed to expand the curriculum to include alternative interpretations, otherwise no one knew they could be wrong.

Between studying for his normal classes, and trying to solve the conundrum of Voldemorts’ return they’d spent a lot of time in the library. Morbidly, Harry thought it was like fourth year all over again. A better fourth year though, he had Draco to balance Hermione’s neurotic tendencies.

They had divided research amongst them and Harry found that if he was going to be pulling his weight then he needed to catch up on his study of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Researching rituals also meant he started to learn esoteric magical theories and trawled through historical accounts to see when they were used and whether they worked. When he found himself waking up at 4.30 in the morning and joining Ernie in his study marathon for the second week in a row, and discovered a book he’d read about Ulric von Heathelstofdt had explained  a theory he’d struggled with in Astronomy, Harry decided he understood Hermione a bit better.

His hard work was paying off, despite not having studied the subjects for two years, he used his careers advice session to ask Professor Sprout about sitting the OWLs for Arithmancy and Runes thanks to his independent study. He also found himself uncomfortably asking if he could drop Care of Magical Creatures and Divination, so that he wasn’t wasting his time studying subjects he wasn’t continuing. She beamed at him with pride and approved it on his schedule while Umbridge sputtered in indignation.

Leaving her office, clutching pamphlets about various career paths that were suddenly open to him, Harry wondered if all those years deliberately lowering his grades to suit the Dursleys, slacking off with Ron, and relying on Hermione, had tricked his brain into thinking he wasn’t actually clever. Oh he wasn’t as clever as Draco and definitely not as smart as Hermione but he wasn’t an average student either. How had he let himself believe that? No wonder Hermione had gotten so irritated at him. _He_ was getting irritated at the way his past self had refused to use his brain.

In between working harder than he could ever remember working, Harry was briefly distracted by Fred and George leaving the school in a blaze of glory and the campaign of non-violent resistance to Umbridge that the school was undertaking. Then there was the final Gryffindor Quidditch match of the season. Unable to participate, he and Draco had instead spent their time adding verses to ‘Weasley is our King’ and conducting those students who decided to sing.

Initially that had only been Slytherin House but once Hufflepuff noticed that Harry was giving his performance 110% they decided house loyalty required they join him. With half the school chanting against him, Ron had continued to perform abysmally leading to a Slytherin victory. The memory of Ron’s face as Angelina yelled at Ron for getting distracted by the crowd warmed Harry’s soul.

He blinked and exams arrived.

By that time, Harry had decided that his best memorization technique was remembering a sarcastic quip Draco had made while studying or a correction that an indignant Hermione had spouted. If he couldn’t do that, he imagined one had happened and remembered that instead. He’d spent so much time with them that this wasn’t hard to do at all... which was slightly disconcerting.

He also thought that his decision to sit OWLs for subjects he hadn’t studied before a few months previous might not have been the smartest move. Still, it was too late to do anything and he went into his exams with a grim expression. To his surprise he found that he was finding them easier than expected. He was breezing through the theory and found the practical component slightly more challenging. For the most part the mistakes he knew he made were minor or fixed quickly enough that they didn’t matter.

Ancient Runes and Arithmancy found himself frowning at the papers and desperately sifting his mind through hours and hours spent gazing at books and making diagrams on parchment. He had no idea how he went and spent both evenings following those exams huddled in a blanket nervously going over questions and his answers. Eventually, Justin had whacked him over the head with a Herbology textbook and curtly said:

“Pull yourself together, man. Those exams are over, focus on the next ones. Otherwise, if you would be so kind, have your breakdown in your head”

A statement which had caused Draco to start wheezing with laughter until tears came out of his eyes. When he attempted to explain later he managed a brief “it’s how he said it and well ... that was your ... whole ... year wasn’t  ... it, a breakdown in.....” before he fell backwards onto his bed with his whole body shaking. Concerned Harry had fed him a calming potion but that hadn’t done anything. He was forced to conclude that for whatever unfathomable reason, Draco really did find it hysterical.

Harry was utterly exhausted by the time he went to sit his History exam. He couldn’t wait for the stupid thing to be over so that he’d have at least some time to relax. Some time to play or muck around instead of being constantly overwhelmed by work. The fact that he’d spent his entire time at Hogwarts falling asleep in the subject wasn’t helping but over the last few months he’d read so many primary source accounts from various periods that he answered most questions ‘through the lens of’ so-and-so’s letters or diary or compiled records, could cross-reference different accounts, and then aggressively critiqued what they said. Smugly he thought that was the good thing about studying with a Slytherin by any other name, you learnt all about how to manipulate things to your best advantage -even exams.

Harry finished his last question just as time was called. He sighed, stretched out his hands, then accompanied his friends down to the lake. The sky was clear, the sun was shining, and Harry was completely relaxed. He looked at Draco’s golden hair, glinting in the sunlight, and listened to his dramatic retelling of the History of Magic exam. Looked at the way that his listeners were laughing and even Hermione was giving a wry smile.

Which was, of course, when his scar burst into excruciating pain and he found himself walking through corridors in the Ministry. He made his way through the corridor that had featured so prominently in his thoughts for the whole year and then into a room filled with glass spheres where Ron was being held by two masked Death Eaters. He was telling Ron to take down a sphere and the insolent welp was defying him. How _dare_ he! Raising his wand, he lovingly whispered ‘ _crucio_ ’ and watched the blood traitor start to writhe...

Then he was gasping and he was sitting under the birch tree, Hermione leaning over him in concern, asking what was wrong. He had a choice to make. He could mention that he’d just had a vision that a student was being tortured by Voldemort and he knew where it was. He could make sure Ron was rescued, be the hero everyone expected him to be but... there was an ugly sort of triumphant feeling in his chest, a conviction that Ron deserved everything that he was receiving at that moment.

His mind flashed back to the conversation he’d overheard between Fred and George straight after the escapes, a small kernel of guilt squirmed inside him but he crushed it. If Ron died his family would grieve but they’d never find out what a lowlife he was. If he didn’t, well, he deserved every moment.

“Sorry, just a flashback, I think it’s all the stress”

***

He slept better that night than he had since winter. He made his way down to breakfast and found the hall staring down at their copies of the _Prophet_ in silent shock. Right, Ron was dead then. As he walked towards the Hufflepuff table he caught a glimpse of two red heads sitting at the Gryffindor table and frowning he turned to look. Yes, there they were, all in a huddle: Ron and Ginny. So why was the Hall deathly silent? Why did even Umbridge look like she was in shock?

_HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS!_

Trumpeted the headline. It appeared that the night before, Death Eaters had broken into the Department of Mysteries, whatever that was, and waited around for an indeterminate amount of time until Voldemort had arrived and tried to take a prophecy orb. Which had triggered some sort of alarm and all hell had broken lose.

Harry frowned and looked at Draco: “I don’t understand, why would he show up in person?”

“Only the subject of a prophecy can retrieve the prophecy. I’d guess that any plans he had to work around that problem failed and he simply lost patience”

It was at that exact moment that Harry understood what had happened. The vision he’d received of Ron being tortured was a trap, had never happened, which also awakened in him the uncomfortable knowledge that he was a subject of a prophecy.

Not just any prophecy though - not for him was the pricking of his thumbs, no he got late eclipses in the sun and moon. Well he could be incredibly lucky but given that Voldemort appeared to be the other subject, he wasn’t holding his breath.

The next day Dumbledore returned and resumed his Headmastership. His mind was running along a one track of prophecies and doom so he barely noticed until he was summoned to Dumbledore’s office. It looked as it always had, full of trinkets and baubles and portraits staring down at him from the walls. Dumbledore’s eyes had lost their twinkle (which Harry was pretty sure were an affectation) and the old man appeared to be gathering his courage to say something.

His eyes were tearing up and he was talking about how he wanted to preserve Harry’s childhood but how circumstances forced his hand. There was a generous amount of self-justification mixed in with it and Harry was starting to feel slightly sickened. This was his life! This was also war! In what world had he had a childhood? No information wasn’t a helpful thing, what if he _had_ decided to be moral and noble and rushed in to save Ron? That would have been a disaster. All because Dumbledore couldn’t find five fucking minutes to tell him that Voldemort might try to lure him to the Department of Mysteries because there was a thrice-damned prophecy about them there?

“...I left you on your Aunt and Uncle’s doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years...”

Harry felt rage creeping up through his muscles, trying to force itself out. It was all he could do not to erupt in that moment. Not to scream and rage. Dumbledore _knew_ he _knew_ that by sending Harry to the Dursley’s his life would be shit? Did he not understand? Did he not comprehend how despicable that made him?

Clearly not, the man was still talking about why he made the choice he did. Why Harry’s mental health and physical wellbeing was not his utmost priority.

Harry thought about being called Freak! He thought about Harry Hunting and his paralysing fear of small terriers. He thought about not getting enough to eat and of back-breaking chores. He thought of growing up knowing that he wasn’t loved. That there was something wrong with him, that if he could only work out what it was maybe he wouldn’t be kept in the cupboard under the stairs. He thought about being left behind on outings. He thought about no presents and harsh punishments. He thought about befriending spiders and Harry’s Room. He thought about being fed through a cat-flap and bars on the window. He thought about his complete alienation from his family history and past.

“...ought I have told you then? ... I cared about you too much...”

And Dumbledore had just admitted culpability for all that pain? For the lonely nights, for the ache in his belly, for the scars and calluses on his hand, for the bruises and the deep seated loneliness that wouldn’t leave him. Harry nearly broke in that moment, Dumbledore cared so much for his happiness that he didn’t listen to him begging not to return to the Dursleys. Pull the other one, it has bells on.

He looked up and whatever there was in his face caused Dumbledore to stumble to a halt. He flashed him a lazy grin and watched the old man seem to pale ever so slightly. Harry decided that there were more important things than his rage and quipped:

“Can you get to the part where you tell me about the prophecy?” he lifted one of his eyebrows, just as he’d seen Draco do “I rather thought that’s why you wanted to talk to me.”

The portrait of Phineas Black was spluttering about nerve and children not respecting elders but Harry could see just a bit further up on the wall a portrait of a stern looking woman looking at him approvingly.

It appeared that not everyone approved of Dumbledore.

“Very well my dear boy, it appears that Voldemort has now learned the full contents of the prophecy which he believed he was fulfilling when he tried to kill you as a baby. Where the prophecy is now, I do not know, but I was there when it was made.”

He got to his feet and walked over to his pensieve and placed it on the desk. Then he raised his wand, extracted a memory from his head, placed it into the bowl and then caused the figure of Trelawney to rise out of the silvery liquid and speak.

“ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_ ”

Harry watched the rotating figure carefully and tuned Dumbledore out completely. He needed to remember this prophecy exactly, Hermione and Draco would be able to deconstruct it with him. Dumbledore, who was still talking about the implications of the prophecy and how fucking sorry he was, could go and hang.

***

Hermione and Draco had added books on Divination to their pile of study materials. They were all piled around a desk in their favourite alcove. It ended in a bay window overlooking the lake and was straight behind the Ritual Magic section. Hermione’s hair was frizzing and Draco’s appearance was no longer immaculate. Flipping through a book titled _The Cassandra Complex: Modern Wizarding Britain and Divination_ Harry wondered if they would ever be able to solve this.

There was a pile of parchment in the centre of the table on which they noted every stray thought that passed through their minds. Gone were the perfectly proportioned diagrams and cross-referenced theories. This was a frenzy of research and thought. It could be catalogued and organised later. Ultimately, Harry thought, as he noted down carefully ‘sounds self-fulfilling’ and smudged ink on his hand, it didn’t matter whether they knew that Yevin von Gartdolft had written the seminal work on exorcism.

He then paused to appreciate the novelty of knowing that Yevin von Gartdolft had written the key treatise on exorcism. He might have done better on his History of Magic OWL than he expected.

With a cry of delight Hermione grabbed the parchment from his side of the table and scribbled furiously. Then she leaned over and flicked Draco with her quill, causing him to startle and glare at her furiously.

“I think I’ve solved it! We know that on the night the Potters were killed, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named suffered some sort of magical backlash that caused him to become disembodied and required he use either the Sorcerers Stone or the Blood of the Enemy ritual to become corporeal. We also know that whatever caused it also had an impact on Harry, which allows him to share his mind”

Draco motioned impatiently for her to get on with it

“Right, ok. Well I thought we weren’t getting anywhere so I went back to basics. Isaac Newton’s - he’s a muggle Draco - second law of motion states that a force in motion will remain in motion in a straight line unless acted on by another force. That means magic will always go where and do what is intended. That means there had to have been another magical force which disrupted You-Know-Who’s spell. I haven’t seen conclusive evidence that it was an Avada-Kedavra but I’m working on the premise that everyone is right and it was an Avada. Anyway, no offense Harry, but you’re just not powerful enough for it to have been repelled by your accidental magic. That leaves rituals. There are only a few rituals that can cause backlash on more than one party and most require that the other impacted party have actively participated in the ritual. I think there are only two rituals that could be in play. The first is a Life Debt. If You-Know-Who incurred a life debt to Lily Potter and then killed -”

“In what world, Granger, would Lily Potter save the Dark Lord’s life?”

“Exactly! That was what I was going to say but ok, probably it would have taken a bit longer. Right, anyway, that leaves only a Vow of Intent. We know that Voldemort told Lily to stand aside. Which makes no sense! If we accept the prophecy then we know that they defied him three times. He’s not going to take that well and he killed, sorry Harry, James without a second thought. So why would he tell Lily to stand aside? If we suppose that Voldemort broke a Vow of Intent, which is as powerful as an Unbreakable but made without consciously invoking ritual magic, probably not to kill Lily for some reason, his magic would already have started to slip into entropy. When he then tried to kill Harry the two magical forces - the Avada and the Vow - would have literally ripped him apart and then, we know from Newton that a force in motion will always stay in motion unless acted on by another force so it had to keep going. The magic had already been cast and nothing had been cast to stop it but it was a different spell that hit you, Harry, an amalgamation. Leaving you with a scar, probably from the Avada or whatever spell he used on you, and a connection to his psyche from the Vow”

Draco’s quill was dripping ink and his mouth was slightly parted as he stared.

“Hermione... that’s brilliant”

She blushed and ducked her head

“Oh, it’s elementary magic theory really. Fourth year at most”

“But a fourth year didn’t put it together did they Granger, and neither did most magical theorists”

“Well, I did have more information than -“

Harry leaned over and put his finger to her mouth, shutting her up.

“Brilliant” he repeated and then turned to Draco who had disappointingly regained control of all his facilities “So what do we think about the prophecy?”

“I saw you scribble down self-fulfilling earlier, your penmanship is atrocious Potter, and I agree. If the Dark Lord hadn’t acted he wouldn’t have marked you and the prophecy would never have come into play -”

“Dumbledore said he didn’t have the full prophecy”

“That explains it. Anyway, something about this spell-amalgamation will give you power that the Dark Lord doesn’t have. I think it’s that has something to do with the mind connection”

Harry nodded then stood, stretching, he thought he saw Draco eye the small patch of stomach that was visible when he lifted his arms above his head but he decided that was wishful thinking.

When he sat back down and looked at the parchment on which they’d scrawled the prophecy he blinked. Then he frowned and pulled forwards the bulky dictionary that was ostensibly on the table for everyone to use but spent most of its time in front of Harry and flipped through to V for Vanquish.

“Hermione” he said slowly “if you vanquish someone, does it automatically mean you’ve permanently defeated them?”

She looked confused for a moment and then said “...I don’t think so. You can vanquish someone in a decisive battle but then they can return many years later”

Harry was already flipping back to P.

He looked up and said slowly:

“Power can also mean having the ability to influence a person or events I mean Voldemort just keeps coming after me, forgetting everything else, forgetting all his grand plans. He got himself caught after he tried to lure me to the Ministry! I think that if the prophecy wasn’t fulfilled when my existence influenced him to separate his soul and body for fourteen years then it will be soon. How can he fight a war and win if he keeps focusing on a fifteen year old?”

For a brief moment they stared at each other in shock and then Hermione smiled and said.

“There was a king of Greece, Croesus, and he asked the Oracle what would happen if he attacked Persia. She replied that if he did so he would bring down a mighty empire. He launched a campaign of war and when he was defeated he sent a message to the Oracle asking her why she had not told him the truth, she replied that she had said he would bring down an empire but not which one, when he attacked Persia he brought down his own.”

Draco started to laugh, “the power to vanquish the Dark Lord is the belief that Harry has some mystical magical power?”

Hermione nodded and threw her hands in the air: “Divination! I swear”

Still laughing they gathered up parchment, returned the library books they’d borrowed to Madam Pince (who looked suspicious at their presence in her library after exams and frowned at their mirth), and returned to their dormitories.

The Hufflepuff Common room was tenser than Harry had become used to but it was still comforting. The fifth and seventh year students had gathered in one corner, close to the stairs playing games. Ernie had dragged Zacharius into a game of Exploding Snap. Justin leaned over to Harry and whispered that it was because he secretly wanted to watch things explode in the prat’s face.

Sally-Anne and Hannah waved them over to join in the large game of charades being led by Sarah Fletcher and Graham Williams, her male counterpart. Standing in front of the group, Harvey Tottlehamer was dramatically acting out shock, horror, and betrayal. Draco curled his lip and then said dryly:

“ _The Betrayal of Merit_? Really Tottlehamer. You’re above this”

When Harvey went red and most of the crowd of half and purebloods started laughing, Harry gathered that this was some part of Wizarding culture that he wasn’t going to understand.

He didn’t realise he’d spoken aloud until Draco stood, walked briskly over to the bookshelves, then dropped a small brown book in his lap

“Or you could just _read_ it”

He then dramatically reached into his satchel, pulled out the parchment on which they kept score, and carefully made a mark in his section.

That complete he stood to take his turn.

Harry spent his night reading what appeared to be a wizarding classic about a pair of lovers (Chaim and Rutherford) who made their way through ministry politics on merit. It was only later that Chaim discovered Rutherford had in fact been bribing his way to success and betraying everything they said they believed in. The book ended with a fiery duel that destroyed both their lives.

Yawning Harry made his way to the Hufflepuff table. Blearily he bumped into Tottlehammer and, simply because being excessively tired made him act slightly drunk, he slung his arm around the other boys shoulder.

“Tottlehammer, look, you’re not Chaim see and he’s not Rutherford. You’re like... you’re beyond him. It’s like you’re up here right, and he’s down there. Way down there. Below ground even.” Then he stumbled to his seat, started drinking his coffee and promptly tried to die of mortification when the caffeine kicked in and he realised what he’d done.

***

Harry did not return to Privet Drive that summer. Dumbledore thought he did, of course, but when he arrived at the train station and saw a purple faced Uncle Vernon and started to walk up to him Justin had joined him. He’d looked earnestly at Vernon and said that he was:

“Dreadfully sorry old chap for this awful bother. Mummy didn’t tell me until this morning that Harry could stay with us this summer. We were going to Ibiza but then the caretaker called and, it was just appalling, completely tragic, and we couldn’t go. You don’t mind do you?”

Uncle Vernon most certainly did not mind. Despite mumbling about the hassle he looked positively ecstatic to see the back of Harry. As they walked over to Lord and Lady Finch-Fletchley, Harry looked at the other boy in confusion.

“Look, Harry, you can’t think it’s escaped our attention about your homelife? We had a House Meeting and we all owled our parents about it. Mummy and Daddy don’t know anything about the war so they were perfectly happy to take you.”

Then they arrived and Justin kissed his mother on both cheeks before turning to his father and nodding briskly. Harry stood there like a stunned mullet until he was introduced and then he demonstrated his charm and tact by falling over his words.

Over the summer holidays Harry became aware of the fact that for the elder Finch-Fletchley’s he was a _project._ It rankled and irritated him slightly but they insisted. So he spent his days being dragged from upscale store to upscale store (“Honestly, darling, those clothes are ghastly”), his nights at the theatre or opera or musical hall, and his afternoons reading classic literature. Dinner was spent teaching him about wines and cutlery and how to identify the quality of what he was consuming. Luckily he was joined by Justin on all his endeavours. Despite all his faults the other boy was effusive in his apologies for his parents behaviour (“It’s Daddy’s fault, he’s on all these Committee’s it’s rather gone to his head”) and making light of the situation.

Draco was having similar problems at the Tonks household. His cousin while entertaining and spirited was not a person with whom his personality was entirely comfortable. She was too rambunctious and anti-establishment (“for an Auror, that’s practically zen”) to get on well with her younger cousin who, while he could be exuberant, was still very staid. His Aunt while welcoming was reserved and distant from her nephew and his Uncle found it difficult to talk to him.

All of which precipitated a lengthy and frequent exchange of letters. Draco’s were often accompanied by wizarding classics that he thought Harry should read or notes on wizarding culture and fashion. Despite the part of Harry that was irritated at the combined Finch-Fletchley and Draco Malfoy education scheme, he was touched. The Dursleys’ hadn’t bothered to teach him any etiquette. He wasn’t allowed to consume any media while he lived with them so apart from going to school he wasn’t particularly in synch with muggle culture. Other kids would be talking about bands and actors and tv shows and he would have no idea what was going on.

Then he fell headfirst into a world he’d never known existed and remained as disorientated as ever. There was no guide for the uninitiated - only comments he didn’t understand and snide remarks when he missed the mark.

 Halfway through what Harry had dubbed his Education in the Ways of the Posh, OWL results arrived.

Harry ripped his letter open and then stared in shock.

_ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS_

_Harry James Potter has achieved:_

_Ancient Runes - A_  
_Arithmancy - A_  
_Astronomy - EE_  
_Charms - O_  
_Defence Against the Dark Arts - O_  
_Herbology - EE_  
_History of Magic - O_  
_Potions - EE_  
_Transfiguration - EE_

That was completely unexpected. He was still blinking at his parchment when Justin unceremoniously lifted it out of his hands, read his grades and then exclaimed

“I say! Marvellous job Harry”

He spent the rest of the day in a daze, thinking about what a difference concerted study made. That night as he crawled into the luxurious bed in one of the Finch-Fletchley’s guest rooms, there was a small warmth in his heart that he nursed into a flame.

His mother had been good at Charms too, he was sure Flitwick had mentioned it at one point. Thinking about the O he’d received for that subject after spending the second part of his year mainly in Library he felt incredibly close to her.

The next day a letter from Sirius arrived which confirmed what he’d expected

_Hey Pup_

_Nine OWLs! I barely got five. You little swot! Remus says to tell you that’s not a bad thing to be. You’ve got to tell me though, how did you stay awake in Binns class long enough to know enough for an O?_

_Your mum would be smiling right now - a whizz with Charmwork was Lily. And an EE in Potions! With Snivellius as a teacher I’d have been proud if you’d scraped an A! Still, Lily always loved that subject. Said it was beautiful, calming, and ethereal (whatever that meant.) She’d be so proud of you - her darling boy._

_James’ parents were awfully impressed when he got straight EEs. They’d been expecting him to scrape As so they took what they got and celebrated with fireworks. I’m not saying your father would have been running around the neighbourhood cheering and letting of fireworks but if he did, it would be continuing a proud Potter tradition._

_This old house is falling apart around me but I’ve been allowed out a couple of times. Dumbledore thinks they don’t really know I’m an animagus but I promise, pup, I’m being careful. Things are getting serious. Are you safe where you are?_

_Padfoot_

Harry stared down at the parchment he held and blinked away tears. It was the most information he’d gotten about his parents in one sitting. He hungered to know more, to know how his grandparents had raised their son and their lives. Information on his family was precious and carefully hoarded in his mind. Each piece a gleaming gem that told him where he came from and that he’d mattered to someone before the Dursleys.

That night at dinner the Finch-Fletchley’s declared that they believed Harry had progressed admirably and no longer needed lessons. It was at this point that Harry’s summer expanded and became brilliant. Hermione visited frequently as did Ernie and Oswald. Neville had come after gaining his address from Hermione and they spent the day ambling through the forests nearby and having a picnic lunch while his friend waxed poetic about Herbology and the letter from Professor Sprout saying he could take NEWT level classes that year.

Then came September 1stand they all piled back onto the train. Hermione dashed into the compartment waving the _Prophet_ at him.

“Read it! Read it!”

Ernie, Oswald, Justin, Draco, Neville, Luna, and Harry all frowned down at the headline.

HIGH INQUISITOR WILL NOT RETURN TO HOGWARTS  
_Speaking to a crowd of reporters newly instated Minister Scrimengeour stated that the post of High Inquisitor was no longer needed due to changes both at the Ministry and Hogwarts. He stated that the ministry was “looking forward to a new age of cooperation” between the two. Dolores Umbridge, now Undersecretary to the Secretary of Interdepartmental Cooperation, stated that it was a “privilege” to serve the previous year but that she was excited by her new portfolio. Rumours that the role was in fact a demotion with no responsibility due to allegations of misconduct at Hogwarts have been strenuously denied. Meanwhile a Coalition of Concerned Parents - including Augusta Longbottom - have been petitioning for an investigation of Umbridge’s dealings at Hogwarts._

Hermione was practically vibrating from excitement and when the carriage exploded into cheers and exuberant conversation, she pulled him into the carriage.

“Oh Harry, you can tell McGonagall now! He’ll be expelled for sure now that the Ministry can’t overturn it. Dumbledore won’t even need to know who he attacked. You won’t be able to go back to Gryffindor, I’m sorry, sanctuary is permanent, but Harry, just think!”

For a moment everything was still and expectant. He didn’t move, he didn’t breathe, and then a wave of realisation swept over him. He didn't want to say. He didn't want people, Dumbledore, to know that his best friend had attacked him. He didn't want them to see that he stopped fighting. That he'd let it happen. He didn't want students to whisper that he was a rape victim, for the Daily Prophet to trumpet headlines like The-Boy-Who-Was-Raped. But... he wanted justice. He wanted Ron gone. He never ever wanted to see his face or be scared that he would run into him just around the corner. He wanted Ron's life not to continue as if nothing had happened. His life hadn't, so why should Ron's? Eventually he gave a brief nod to Hermione who hugged him tightly and said:

"If you're sure Harry, you don't need to if you don't want to. It won't mean you weren't you know. It's your choice"

He spent the rest of the train ride silent and worried. The Sorting Ceremony blurred together into one giant stream of HufflepuffRavenclawGryffindorSlytherinRavnclawHufflepuffSlytherin- and even though he knew he ate, when he stood to leave he couldn’t quite remember tasting anything.

As Hufflepuff exited the Great Hall he saw Hermione waiting just outside the double-doors. He pulled Draco along with him and despite a questioning look from Hermione he kept a tight hold of the other boys arm. Walking to McGonagall’s office he felt a rising tide of nausea clawing up his throat. His skin was breaking out in a sweat and he leaned bodily against the wall in front of her office. He took deep breaths and was only slightly dizzy when Professor McGonagall approached.

When they were all seated she looked at Harry over the rim of her spectacles and waited. He gulped, clutched Draco and Hermione’s arms tightly and then said:

“I’ve come to report... I want to report the person who... the person who... raped me”

She nodded at him to continue and he looked determinedly at the grains of wood on her desk while he spoke Ron’s name so quickly that it took everyone else in the office a moment to decipher it. McGonagall’s lips thinned and she gave a brief nod. Then she held out a tin in Harry’s face

“Have a biscuit, Potter”

Harry thought that if he did take a biscuit he would really be sick so he shook his head.

“Have a biscuit” she repeated firmly and this time he took one. She held the tin out to Hermione and Draco and Harry saw sulkily that they were allowed to decline.

Then she started to speak. She reassured him that she would not require pensieve memories, they still had medical evidence from the night everything had happened and they could use it to prove that Ron was the perpetrator. His name would not be mentioned to anyone, not even Dumbledore. Healer-Patient confidentiality in the wizarding world was inviolable. Madam Pomfrey could submit a pensieve memory of when she’d examined him but it would not identify her patient.

She gave him a sad smile and said that she was sorry they could not do anything sooner, that Harry had to live without justice for almost a year, but they would fix it now. Harry didn’t think this was something that could be fixed.

He was whole and he was healing but he could no longer be the person he would have been without it. He could no longer have the friendship he had before. His body, he now knew, was easy to overpower. He could not trust that those in authority would do the right thing, that justice would prevail over politics. Hogwarts was not as safe in his mind as it once was.

No, it could not be fixed but that did not mean he would remain broken. He would grow into something different and new. There was no shame in that just as there was no shame in his sadness and rage and anxiety.  

He looked up and said quietly

"I don't want anyone to know"

That night Ron was quietly escorted from the premises and expelled. For the next few weeks rumours were swirling but none of them pointed to Harry and the Ginny remained tight-lipped. A few weeks after that all students attended classes on consent and sexual violence, it was distant enough from the expulsion that no one thought the events were related. Harry, breathed a sigh of relief.

*** 

It was the last day of Autumn, soon winter would come and coat the grounds with glorious snow. Hermione had her nose in a book and Luna was dancing with Neville to encourage the leaves to fall. Draco was sitting next to him, leaning over and sarcastically commentating Ernie and Oswalds’ spirited debate about wizarding versus muggle justice systems with Justin. As he sat in a courtyard with his glorious mishmash of friends, Harry looked down at the Prophet article talking about the expulsion of an unnamed student at Hogwarts and smiled.

Voldemort wasn’t his responsibility but as Draco turned and waved Pansy over to join them Harry thought he wasn’t long for this world. He was as mortal as the rest of them and now that the Order knew they did not have to wait for a prophesied messiah, they would attack fiercely.

Draco was waving his arms and catching Pansy up on debate highlights. Harry looked at the way that his face was alive and carefree, looked at the way he startled an unexpected laugh from Hermione and thought _tomorrow, I’m going to ask him out tomorrow._ The bell for dinner rang and laughing they picked up satchels and books and made for Hogwarts. Life, thought Harry, was different and difficult but oh, it was grand.

Damn it, the pomposity  _was_ contagious.

**Author's Note:**

> What I really wanted to do with this fic is show that most rapes occur between people who know each other, that rape is about power more than attraction, and the way rape changes people. I also waited to give Harry justice because of the abysmal way that rape is generally treated in our world. Harry's justice process is much easier than most victims in the real world but by this point the fic wanted to end so call it wish fulfilment if you want. 
> 
> References and Explanations
> 
> \- House prices in the Newtown area of Cambridge in the 90s along Chaucer Rd were around 300,000 and 500,000 pounds which is (to my knowledge) affordable for two dentists. Today they could sell that same house for around 3.5mill. Housing crisis, what housing crisis?
> 
> -All the descriptions of the men Harry realises he’s been attracted to are lifted straight from the books. Also appreciate the glory of ‘he’s not my type’ to describe Ron’s disguise in Deathly Hallows.
> 
> -Occlumency lessons aren’t a thing in this AU because in Cambridge Harry is rather aggressively pushing out everything that isn’t directly related to that holiday and therefore doesn’t have a dream about Mr Weasley. Without that dream Dumbledore doesn’t institute lessons. Harry’s booklets on trauma which included CBT also help him, as does the fact that Harry’s psyche is so occupied with other stuff. 
> 
> -The poem that Draco recites is (very slightly altered) The Changeling by Charlotte Mary Mew.
> 
> -My description of Tonks is lifted from Pratchett on Samuel Vimes. I couldn’t resist.
> 
> -In the books Harry’s grades are as follows
> 
> O- DADA: EE - Care of Magical Creatures, Charms, Herbology, Potions, Transfiguration: A - Astronomy: P - Divination: D - History
> 
> In my AU, Harry studies harder and he does extra reading on the side. He takes good notes. He’s dropped Divination and CoMC so those grades are irrelevant. It's unrealistic that he gets higher than an A in the new classes. My sibling caught up on a year’s worth of a subject in two months to beyond requirements so in about five months Harry could do it, if he focuses. Which he does, studying is how he gets his brain to shut up. Charms and Astronomy go up a slot because they would be in his extra reading. History becomes an O because he finishes his exam and, like with potions, it's a teaching issue more than a Harry issue. Also he found a way to answer the questions which shows higher order thinking and shows outside reading of primary sources.
> 
> \- My story about Croesus comes from Herodotus


End file.
